


this photograph is proof

by suzukiblu



Category: Daredevil - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Is More Like Guidelines Really, First Meetings, Fluff, Identity Porn, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Stakeout, Wooing, wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: Daredevil isn’t the most photographed of superheroes, but Matt still knows what a camera sounds like.





	this photograph is proof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyh2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyh2112/gifts).



> Written for beckyh2112, who wanted Spider-Man/Daredevil identity porn. My overall knowledge of both these characters spans bits and pieces of multiple iterations but isn’t necessarily fully concrete on any of them, so these here are a slightly wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey Spider-Man and Daredevil. I basically just cherry-picked my favorite bits of various canons, stitched them all together, and went from there. All you really need to know is everyone involved is a grown-ass adult making their own ridiculous grown-ass decisions.

Daredevil isn’t the most photographed of superheroes, but Matt still knows what a camera sounds like. He’s a little busy trying not to die to really pay attention, though, so at the moment it’s just another aspect of the fight: it’s raining, Bullseye is trying to kill him, and someone’s taking pictures. Nothing really unusual there. He’d rather it weren’t raining, maybe, but worse things have happened. 

It’s _damned_ cold, though. 

A lot of chaos and projectile weapons later, he finally manages to cold-cock Bullseye with his billy club, and the other collapses to the street. 

“Did you get my good side?” he asks dryly, and the man with the camera startles guiltily. 

“Uh,” he says. “Yes? Sorry.” 

“You realize you could’ve gotten killed, right,” Matt says, kicking at one of Bullseye’s dropped shuriken. It’s not really a question, obviously. It’s late, and they’re in Hell’s Kitchen. Having the camera out alone could be enough to get killed over, to say nothing of taking photos of a super-villain. 

“In my defense, I need to make rent,” the man with the camera says. Matt frowns. “That sounded weird, didn’t it. My name’s Peter Parker. I’m a freelance photographer. _Not_ a creepy . . . whatever you just assumed. Or a paparazzo.” 

“Is there a difference?” Matt says. 

“Well, I was less stalking you and more accidentally tripped _over_ you, so yes,” Peter Parker says. The rain patters against his face and camera. Matt’s getting a pretty good view of him, all things considered. 

He’s . . . interesting, somehow. 

“You should be more careful,” Matt says. 

“Rent,” Peter Parker repeats, which—fair enough, Matt supposes. 

“You’re not injured, are you?” he asks. 

“No. But sorry about the flash,” Peter Parker says sheepishly. “Hope it wasn’t too distracting.” 

“Not for me,” Matt says. 

.

.

.

Peter doesn’t specialize in superheroes or anything—just one very _specific_ superhero—but tripping over a fight when he’s got his camera on him, well, he really _does_ need to make rent. Also, Daredevil. He’s not exactly the most photographed guy around. The Daily Bugle might not want pictures of him, but somebody will. 

He’s actually kind of amazed Daredevil didn’t break his camera or something, frankly. He’d been a bit distracted by the musclebound guy in body armor, his spider-sense probably wouldn’t have done him much good. Because, like . . . musclebound guy in body armor. 

Musclebound. 

Peter takes his camera home and checks out his dubiously-gotten gains. Well, not _dubious_ , really, but Daredevil is probably not thrilled about this, is all. 

They’re _really_ good photos, though. Like, seriously, Peter is impressed with himself. He’s levelled up. Also, does Daredevil even have a bad side? Because if he does, these photos have _not_ found it. 

“You’re smiling too much. Are you looking at pictures of yourself again?” Mary Jane asks, leaning over his shoulder with the kind of biting commentary he gets for hanging out socially with his fashion model ex. “Oh, never mind, I see we’re branching out.” 

“Actually I’m smiling because I’m very good at taking photos,” Peter says. “If you must know.” 

“Sure you are, tiger,” Mary Jane says, stealing the camera to look through the rest of the pictures. “Who’s he fighting, Bullseye?” 

“More specifically he is kicking Bullseye’s ass, but yes,” Peter says. 

“That’s some very tight body armor,” Mary Jane observes. 

“I know, right?” Peter says, leaning over to see which picture she’s on. It’s a very flattering one—well, flattering for Daredevil. Bullseye looks kinda dumb. To be fair, he’s in the middle of getting hit in the face, so it’d be hard to look _good_. 

Daredevil could possibly manage it, judging by the quality of these photos. 

“Were you actually wall-crawling in Hell’s Kitchen?” Mary Jane says. 

“More like getting screwed over by subway construction,” Peter says. She hands him back the camera, and he sneaks one last peek at the current picture before turning it off. “I have no desire to go wall-crawling where I’m not needed. Or wanted. Or actively disliked, probably.” 

“Is Daredevil that bad?” Mary Jane asks. 

“To be fair, I have no idea, I’ve never met him,” Peter says. “But I’m _pretty_ sure you don’t obsessively stake out a few blocks in a city of eight million people and then get excited about sharing.” 

“Maybe not,” Mary Jane says wryly. “Think he flunked kindergarten?” 

“Oh, I am _sure_ he flunked kindergarten,” Peter says. “See: me being disguised as an ordinary civilian every moment I spend in Hell’s Kitchen. Like, I would sooner web-swing in _jeans_ than make Daredevil think I didn’t think he had his shit handled.” 

“Is it really that bad web-swinging in jeans?” Mary Jane asks. 

“You have _no_ idea,” Peter says. 

“Maybe if you bought ones that _fit_ . . .” 

“Slander!” 

.

.

.

“Hey, you’re in the paper,” Foggy says, sounding mildly surprised. “Well, half of you’s in the paper. It’s a really good picture.” 

“I don’t suppose the photographer’s name is Peter Parker,” Matt says, swallowing the last sip of his coffee. 

“Bingo,” Foggy says. “What, you got an arrangement going now?” 

“No, he’s just the only person I’ve noticed taking my picture this week,” Matt says. 

“So he’s cute,” Foggy says. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Matt says, and Foggy snorts. 

“ _Very_ funny,” he says. “I have been over that joke since about five seconds after I found out about the radar-sense, for the record. I was over that joke before I even knew it was a _joke_.” 

Matt hums, and lets a smile curl his mouth. Foggy flicks a paperclip at him, and he shifts his empty coffee cup to catch it and laughs. 

“Peter Parker? Isn’t that the guy who takes all those pictures of Spider-Man?” Foggy asks. 

“Maybe he’s trying to branch out,” Matt says with a shrug. 

“Well, you’re not being labelled a wall-crawling menace, so that’s something,” Foggy says. “And it’s a really good picture, like I said. I think I’m gonna scrapbook this, in fact.” 

“You’re scrapbooking, now?” Matt asks. 

“I would say don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it but you probably wouldn’t get much out of the experience,” Foggy says. “I’ve been labelling mine in Braille but that only gets you so far.” 

“Unless you described all the pictures in great detail in those labels, yes,” Matt says, a little touched by the gesture despite the futility of it. 

“I did,” Foggy says. “Why else would I be labelling them?” 

“You’ve been scrapbooking about Daredevil in Braille,” Matt says. 

“I’ve been scrapbooking about Nelson and Murdock in Braille,” Foggy corrects. “Daredevil’d be a new scrapbook. It’ll be cute, I’ll put little devil horns on it.” 

“I’m _almost_ sure we’re playing chicken here but honestly I want to see if you’ll actually do it,” Matt says. 

“I will, and it will be _darling_ ,” Foggy says. “Pinking shears will be involved.” 

“Do I want to know?” Karen asks as she walks in the doorway, hanging her coat on the rack. 

“Daredevil met a hot photographer,” Foggy says, holding up the newspaper. 

“Oh, that’s a really nice angle,” Karen says, sounding impressed. “What’s that got to do with pinking shears, though?” 

“I’m going to make a scrapbook,” Foggy says. 

“Ooo, you should give it little horns.” 

“ _Thank_ you.” 

“You enjoy that,” Matt says wryly, fishing the paperclip out of his coffee cup and getting up for a refill. “Where’s the file on the Carver case?” 

“On your desk, unless you’ve scrapbooked it,” Karen says. “I didn’t think you liked having your picture taken.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Matt says. “It just doesn’t usually come up. That scrapbook’s going to take a while to fill up.” 

“Bet you fifty bucks he sees the hot photographer again,” Foggy says. 

“I don’t take fools’ bets,” Karen says. 

.

.

.

“I swear I’m not stalking you,” Peter says. 

“That sounds like something someone stalking me would say,” Daredevil says, dropping the last drug dealer he just knocked into unconsciousness off the fire escape he’s standing on and down into a pile of trash bags in the alley below. The body armor is no less tight than Peter remembered. 

“Fair,” Peter allows. “But there’s legitimately construction on my usual subway line and you’re very photogenic. Those things aren’t related, obviously, they’re just both observable facts.” 

“Are they?” Daredevil says, leaning on the fire escape railing. Peter resists the urge to snap another picture. Action shots sell better anyway. 

“Okay, I’m _sure_ you know you’re photogenic, it’s pretty hard to miss,” he says. “Most people don’t look that good throwing a punch.” 

“I don’t make a habit of looking at photos of myself,” Daredevil says. 

“That’s a serious loss for you,” Peter informs him. Daredevil tilts his head, and lets out . . . a chuckle? Was that a chuckle? Maybe it was a growl. Seems more likely. 

“You think I look good, Peter Parker?” Daredevil asks. 

“I would have taken a _lot_ fewer pictures if I didn’t,” Peter answers slightly too honestly, mostly due to being surprised that Daredevil bothered remembering his name. Also, nnnn. That question really sounded like a come-on. Like, impressively so. He’s impressed. 

“Well, I hope they sell,” Daredevil says, looking up at the roof overhead. “Rent and all.” 

“Uh-huh,” Peter agrees, briefly distracted by the way the other’s arm flexes as he pulls out his billy club. He snaps a picture on instinct, which is _not_ the smartest thing he’s done tonight. “Uh. Sorry.” 

Daredevil smiles very, very faintly at him. Peter feels a bit smitten and snaps another. It’s probably a problem. Or definitely a problem. 

“It’s dangerous out tonight,” Daredevil says. “You should get out of the neighborhood.” 

“I’m feeling very safe, actually,” Peter says, and Daredevil’s faint smile just barely widens. 

“Are you?” he asks. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Peter says. 

.

.

.

Matt follows Peter Parker out of the neighborhood from the rooftops, partially because he was going that way anyway and partially because turnabout is fair play, but mostly to make sure he doesn’t get mugged. Peter Parker is clearly not concerned enough about his own well-being, and he looks like an easy target. He manages to avoid running into anyone unsavory, though, and Matt would feel silly for having followed him, but again, Peter Parker is clearly not concerned enough about his own well-being. 

Matt could probably follow him _home_ and that problem wouldn’t abate, he suspects. This is as far as he’s going tonight, though; he’s got work to do, and Hell’s Kitchen won’t sleep just for one photographer. 

It turns out to be a quiet night, though, minor altercations with dealers aside. Matt spends most of it perched on various rooftops, feeling like a gargoyle. By the time he gets back home, he’s restless and paranoid. Whenever he doesn’t find trouble, it makes him feel like trouble’s waiting to find _him_. 

It’s hard to sleep, but he manages it eventually, and wakes up just in time to avoid being late for work. Which is good, definitely, because they have a meeting uptown today, and Foggy and Karen would kill him. 

Wouldn’t look too good in the scrapbook, that. 

“Another hot date with the photographer?” Foggy asks the moment he walks into the office, and Matt raises an eyebrow at him. “Serious question, you’re in the paper _and_ you look like you didn’t sleep a wink.” 

“That was fast,” Matt muses. 

“Well, he’s a freelancer, he probably knows where to take his work,” Foggy says. “Assuming he’s a _decent_ freelancer, anyway, I know nothing about the guy except that he has a thing for Spider-Man and is really good at making you look good.” 

“They are extremely flattering pictures,” Karen agrees. 

“Thanks?” Matt tries. 

“You can tell him your intrepid sidekicks said so, next time,” Foggy says, turning the newspaper on its side and tilting his head the opposite direction, for some presumably Foggy-logical reason. “Don’t mention the scrapbook, though, you don’t want him to get a big head.” 

“I’m pretty sure I’m not seeing him again,” Matt says. 

“So you _didn’t_ ask him out,” Karen says. 

“Daredevil doesn’t date,” Matt says dryly. “What would we do, anyway, have a stakeout?” 

“I’ve done that before,” Foggy says. “With a picnic. It was really fun, actually.” 

“It’s definitely better than walking into a nice restaurant as Daredevil,” Karen says as she looks him up and down. “Don’t think you’d make the dress code in that get-up.” 

“I could wear a tie,” Matt says mildly, adjusting the one he’s wearing. “Polish up the billy club.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea, please do it,” Karen says. “Make sure Peter Parker takes pictures.” 

“I think he’s got enough of them by now,” Matt says. 

“Not enough for the scrapbook,” Foggy says, and Matt gives him a wry smile. 

“Oh, well, if it’s for the _scrapbook_ ,” he says. 

.

.

.

“These are _very_ flattering pictures,” Mary Jane says. 

“Thanks?” Peter tries. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he feels himself turn red. 

“Twice now? Really, tiger?” she asks him. 

“There really is construction on my line,” he says. “And I really do _not_ want to web-sling through Hell’s Kitchen.” 

“Uh-huh.” Mary Jane looks at the picture in her hands and hums, eyebrow still skeptically cocked. Peter would feel attacked, but she’s pretty much right on target. 

“I can’t decide if he’s nice or scary,” he says. “He followed me the whole way out of Hell’s Kitchen and I don’t know if it was to make sure I was okay or to make sure I was actually leaving.” 

“Probably both,” Mary Jane says, which is probably fair. 

“I swear the body armor’s gotten tighter,” he says. Mary Jane snorts, pushing the pictures into his chest. 

“I swear you’re _hopeless_ ,” she says. “Ask him out.” 

“I don’t think Daredevil dates,” Peter says skeptically. “Definitely Daredevil doesn’t date _civilians_.” 

“Good thing you’re only one of those about half the time, then,” Mary Jane replies with a smirk. 

.

.

.

Daredevil doesn’t date, but Peter Parker doesn’t know how to stay out of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Construction?” Matt inquires, hanging down from a conveniently sturdy awning. Peter Parker, surprisingly, doesn’t jump. 

“You got it,” he says, tipping his head back to look up at him. His camera’s not out, but he’s wearing a bag that’s very camera-shaped. “Don’t suppose you have any exciting super-villains to fight tonight, do you?” 

“Nobody on my dance card,” Matt says. “Except you, apparently.” 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Peter Parker says. Matt wonders if he’s blushing. His heartbeat’s picked up, at least. 

“Shame,” he says. 

.

.

.

Daredevil is still very photogenic, and rarely photographed enough that Peter’s had no problems moving any of his shots of him (though he _may_ have saved the one of him smiling for, well, himself). He’s not entirely sure of Hell’s Kitchen’s feelings on their resident superhero, but if nothing else he apparently sells papers. Rent is definitely covered, and early enough in the month that he can maybe get a head-start on _next_ month, assuming no emergencies pop up. 

So at least two emergencies are probably gonna pop up, but for today at least he can relax about it and concentrate on literally anything else. 

Today “anything else” is gonna be “Avengers business”, apparently. 

“Listen,” Tony says, planting his hands on his shoulders. “Kiddo. Buddy. Pal.” 

“I don’t want to know,” Peter says immediately. Tony’s a lot more bearable when they’re both suited up. But of course, of all the places he could’ve gotten a damn internship . . . 

“Too bad, we’re paying you to know,” Tony says. 

“Not that much!” Peter protests. “This isn’t even my field!” 

“Well, the girl whose field it is turned out to be a HYDRA plant, so consider yourself on double-duty for the day,” Tony says. 

“You hired a PA from _HYDRA_?!” 

“Like no one else has ever done that, geez,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “She wasn’t even _my_ PA.” 

“Mr. Stark!” 

“Look, I’ve got a meeting in Miami and Pepper already forbid me from making F.R.I.D.A.Y. do it after what happened last time, so you’re on deck, kid,” Tony says, and the next thing Peter knows he’s in the lobby of Avengers Tower waiting on literal _lawyers_ , because apparently he was the least hapless-looking person in the lab, somehow? In some universe? He’s going to assume everybody actually competent sensed this coming and knew when to hide. 

He doesn’t actually get to meet the lawyers, mind, because it’s about five seconds later that somebody’s super-villain shows up at the front door and starts fucking shit up, and for being in Avengers Tower they are _woefully_ short on Avengers today. 

There _is_ a perfectly good friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who knows where all the security cameras are, though. 

“Seriously, how did you think this was going to work out for you?” Peter asks as he finishes webbing the guy to the ceiling. He actually does not even recognize him, whoever he is. He’s wearing spandex, but so does half the superhero/villain population of New York, so that’s not very helpful. 

“I will have my revenge!” the guy yells at him. Peter webs his mouth shut, obviously, and then gets the hell out of Dodge before the cops show up and decide to arrest _him_ , or something equally stupid. It’s gonna be a pain explaining where Peter Parker went during all the fuss, but he’ll figure it out. He always does. 

“Heads up,” he warns as he swings past a very handsome guy with red sunglasses and a white cane, and the guy tilts his head. 

“Huh,” the guy says, looking . . . puzzled, almost. Peter doesn’t really have time to pay attention, because that’s when the super-villain’s _posse_ shows up. Through the _street_ , they show up. 

Well, this should be exciting, he thinks, snatching Sunglasses Guy off the breaking ground and out of the way of danger. Sunglasses Guy puts his arms around his neck, which is a thing a surprising amount of guys will not normally do but definitely helpful in not dropping him as Peter dives for cover, super-strength or no. 

“Below,” Sunglasses Guy says calmly at the exact same second Peter’s spider-sense goes off, and he leaps straight up to the ceiling with the guy the second before the floor gives out, which, whoops, not his best plan there. Although, they’re not currently falling through the floor, so it could’ve been worse. Sunglasses Guy keeps a tight grip on him through the whole thing—he’s strong, definitely, and _extremely_ level-headed for being a blind guy getting jerked around by a stranger in the middle of a lot of chaos. 

“Sorry,” Peter says. “Just—hold on a second, okay?” 

“Okay,” Sunglasses Guy says patiently. 

Well, he’s definitely saved more difficult civilians, he thinks. 

.

.

.

Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Matt is definitely not supposed to have noticed that, but it’s hard for him to miss certain things, and Peter Parker and Spider-Man have identical builds, matching heartbeats, and use the same soap and shampoo. 

Well, it certainly explains why Peter Parker wasn’t worried walking through Hell’s Kitchen alone after midnight, he thinks. Here he’d just been assuming the guy had some kind of issue with his fear response. 

He probably does, being a superhero, but definitely not in the way Matt had been assuming. 

Matt knows a lot of things he shouldn’t know—a lot of other people’s secrets. Normally he wouldn’t really care about picking up another one. 

The problem with that is . . . 

“Wow, you actually brought a picnic to this stakeout,” Peter Parker says, looking over the blanket and basket Matt’s laid out. “I totally thought you were kidding about that.” 

“Intrepid sidekicks’ idea,” Matt says with a shrug from his seat on the edge of the rooftop. “We’ll probably be at this for a while.” 

“I can be patient,” Peter Parker says. “I can especially be patient for a decent sandwich.” 

“And some good photos?” Matt asks, amused. 

“Well, that part goes without saying,” Peter Parker says. “Hey, is that pie?” 

“That’s pie,” Matt confirms. 

“You are much better at picnic-planning than I would’ve assumed,” Peter Parker says, scooping up one of the sandwiches and sitting down next to him with no apparent fear over how high up they are. Which makes sense, Matt supposes. Why would Spider-Man be afraid of heights? 

“I’m a man of many hidden talents,” he says. 

“Sounds kinda like a threat,” Peter Parker says. 

“Not to you.” Matt smiles faintly at him, and the other’s heart rate picks up a bit. Matt’s not sure what to say to him. Telling him he knows he’s Spider-Man would require some explanations, specifically of how he could tell but more concerningly exactly when he’d had the _opportunity_ to tell. Daredevil’s never met Spider-Man, after all. 

It’s not exactly fair that he knows Spider-Man’s secret identity when Peter Parker doesn’t know his, but that doesn’t mean he’s eager to give it out either. Secrets are secrets for a reason, after all, no matter how handsome or interesting or willing to go on a stakeout someone might be. 

“This is definitely a new experience,” Peter Parker says. He should probably start just thinking of him as “Peter”, at this point. 

“Picnicking on a rooftop, or staking out a drug shipment?” Matt asks. 

“I was more thinking hanging out socially with somebody I’ve been selling pictures of,” Peter says. “Stakeouts or no.” 

“Never done this with Spider-Man?” Matt says, tilting his head. It seems like the kind of question someone who didn’t know would ask. 

“Nope,” Peter says. “We keep the work-life balance pretty separate.” 

“Should I be flattered?” Matt smiles at him again. 

“I dunno,” Peter says. “Is getting to take me out flattering?” 

“I’m feeling fairly flattered,” Matt says. Peter’s heart rate picks up again. He’s not wearing a mask, obviously, so it would be very easy to kiss him. 

Not _fair_ , but easy. 

Matt’s just thinking about that a little bit, is all. 

“Well, now I know Daredevil’s a smooth talker, that’s something I learned today,” Peter says, taking a bite of his sandwich, and Matt chuckles. They can’t do this again, obviously—it’s just not fair, and besides, Daredevil doesn’t date—but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it for the moment, does it? 

Probably he should’ve just told him something else had come up and cancelled altogether. That would’ve been the right thing to do. 

Well, no. The _right_ thing to do would be confessing, but again: secrets. Reasons. Damn _good_ reasons. Cancelling would’ve just been smart. 

“Hey, I know stakeouts are supposed to take forever, but what’s that guy doing?” Peter says, pointing across the street, and Matt automatically turns his head, more to look like he needs to look than anything else. 

“Good question,” he says, pulling out his billy club. 

.

.

.

So Peter went on a date with Daredevil, kind of, and got some really _sweet_ pictures out of the deal. It’s a little weird going on a date with a superhero, especially in his civilian identity. Like, if he’d ever expected to date a superhero, it would’ve been in the mask. It was pretty cool, though, even if the picnic got interrupted pretty early in the evening and they had to get to work. His bank account is pretty happy about that part, if nothing else. His internship isn’t _quite_ well-paid enough to cover expenses, especially with Spider-concerns involved, so every picture he sells makes it a little bit easier to keep on keeping on. 

“So did you kiss him?” Mary Jane says. 

“I will have you know a gentleman does not kiss and tell, Ms. Watson,” he says. 

“So no, then,” she says. 

“Yeah, no,” he agrees with a sigh. “Drug busts take precedent over makeout sessions, unfortunately.” 

“I don’t see why you can’t fit in both,” Mary Jane says reasonably. “He’s an experienced superhero, he should know how to juggle.” 

“He may be slightly more professional than some of us,” Peter says. “Also, if you’ll remember, I was always _terrible_ about the juggling.” 

“Point,” Mary Jane says, draping herself across the couch and studying the latest Daredevil pictures he printed up with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe it’d help if you bought jeans that fit.” 

“My jeans fit!” Peter protests. 

“ _One_ pair of your jeans fits,” Mary Jane corrects. “The pair I bought you, specifically.” 

“Those count!” 

“Did you wear them to the stakeout?” Mary Jane asks. “Because they only count if he _sees_ you in them.” 

“I plead the fifth,” Peter says, shuffling the scattered pictures of Daredevil all into one pile and neatening the edges of it. He _would_ have worn them, but in his defense, he’d forgotten they existed. 

He wishes the stakeout had lasted longer. He’d really wanted to talk to Daredevil more. 

.

.

.

Daredevil doesn’t date, but the bigger problem is that _Matt_ can’t date . . . Peter Parker, or Spider-Man, or whichever one of them he’s facing at the moment. This would’ve been a lot easier if Daredevil had met Spider-Man or Matt Murdock had met Peter Parker. 

At the moment, it’s Peter Parker. 

“Sorry, this isn’t really my field, but the last PA was a HYDRA plant,” Peter says. 

“Tony Stark hired a HYDRA plant?” Foggy asks. 

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, actually,” Peter says. “Apparently it was pretty messy.” 

“Sounds unfortunate,” Matt says. 

“You have no idea,” Peter says. Matt wishes the stakeout had lasted longer, and wonders if Peter would’ve told Daredevil the full story. For the moment, though, he’s showing them to the meeting room they’re meant to be occupying for the next hour or so, and that unfortunately takes precedence. He’d rather spend the time talking to Peter, finding out a little bit more about him. Considering he already knows what’s probably his biggest secret, that might be a bit selfish a thought. 

Okay, it’s a _very_ selfish thought. He still wants to know, though, and there’s no point in lying to himself about it. 

“Well, you seem to be handling things fine,” he says. 

“This really isn’t my field,” Peter says again, and Matt can’t help smiling. 

“Noted,” he says, and they follow him to the meeting room, Peter mumbling to himself most of the way. It’s cute. Also, funny—what he’s saying, Matt means, not the mumbling in general. Which makes sense, really; he’s always heard Spider-Man was pretty mouthy. Peter seems to go to slightly more of an effort to rein that in outside of the mask, though. Matt wouldn’t want to accidentally repeat something Daredevil had said, so he gets that. It’s probably a lot harder to avoid when you spend most of your fights chatting your opponent’s ear off. 

He wants to ask Peter some much too personal questions and take him on another stakeout. Now that he knows it’s not endangering a civilian, he could take him on _all_ his stakeouts, although that’d probably be moving a bit fast. Not that Matt is going to be making any moves whatsoever, because he knows a secret Peter doesn’t and it really wouldn’t be fair. It’s not fair to date _normal_ people without them knowing he’s a superhero, much less date another superhero without _him_ knowing he knows he’s a superhero. 

It’s definitely complicated. 

It’s definitely a shame. 

Peter stays for the duration of the meeting, which is incredibly distracting, and then shows them out after. Matt resists the urge to ask him out for . . . something low-commitment and normal, whatever a normal date would be. Coffee? Probably coffee. 

It may have been a while since his last proper date. 

Peter leaves them at the door, and they wait for a cab on the curb. Foggy rocks back on his feet. 

“I would ask if that was the same Peter Parker but you almost tripped, like, twice,” he says. “Which is I think two more times than I’ve ever seen you trip without the involvement of alcohol or a head wound or somebody pretty.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matt lies. 

“Sure you don’t, buddy.” 

.

.

.

It’s been two weeks and Peter’s usual subway line is back up and running, but he’s debating cutting through Hell’s Kitchen anyway. If Daredevil had, like, a phone or something, he’d just call him, but if Daredevil _does_ have a phone he hasn’t mentioned it soooo . . . 

His options for getting in touch with the guy are limited, basically. 

How do you ask a superhero for a second date, anyway? 

Although really, _should_ he even be asking Daredevil for a second date? It’s a little weird, considering the whole . . . masks and secret identities and all. He doesn’t really care who Daredevil actually is but the body armor would still put a crimp in dating. 

Also, there’s _his_ mask and secret identity to consider. Like, that is a very real thing to consider too. 

It’s complicated. 

Peter doesn’t cut through Hell’s Kitchen because he is a normal person who does normal things and is not gonna creep on other superheroes, especially when those other superheroes don’t _know_ he’s a superhero. That’d just be weird, and possibly boundary-violating. Well, okay, it’s not like he’s ever met Daredevil in costume, so maybe it’s more—

Peter’s spider-sense goes off and the subway screeches to a very dangerous halt. The car’s mostly empty, probably fortunately, but he and everyone else in it end up on the floor. 

“Shit,” he says, and then he hears the sound of explosions in the not-very-distant distance. _“Shit.”_

It would be a really great time to be the only person in this subway car. 

More explosions. A couple of people scream. Peter looks around fast, looking for a way out or the smart thing to do. Options are limited. People might be hurt, or a lot worse than just hurt. He needs— 

Spider-sense. Peter jerks to the side. 

Another explosion goes off, and rocks the subway car. The doors blow in. _Everyone_ screams. 

This is either very convenient or very bad, Peter thinks, and darts for the opening. 

.

.

.

The street starts blowing up six blocks over, and while it may be borderline out of his territory Daredevil, obviously, can’t ignore that. He goes right for the chaos, and comes face to face with Peter Parker. 

Or rather, mask to mask with Spider-Man. 

Of course the likeliest way for them to meet would be saved for last, he thinks. 

“I swear I’m not trying to encroach on your territory here,” Spider-Man says. 

“I’m really not worried about that,” Matt says. “What’s going on?” 

“No idea,” Spider-Man says. “Things keep exploding. Can’t figure out what’s doing it. Or who, more likely.” 

“Terrorist? Gas line? Mutant?” Matt guesses one after another. 

“Honestly, no idea,” Spider-Man says, and then, “Whoops.” He grabs Matt around the waist and leaps into the air, and Matt puts his arms around his neck without thinking right before the street blows up underneath them and sends them crashing into the side of the nearest building. Spider-Man, somehow, keeps his grip on both his webline and Matt. Matt’s impressed, frankly. 

“Nice job,” he says. 

_“Ow,”_ Spider-Man says. Matt gives him a consoling pat, then drops out of his grip and lands on the broken-up street. There’s no sign of whatever caused the explosion, so that’s inconvenient. Spider-Man lands on the toppled mailbox next to him, giving off an impression of stress. “There’s people trapped in the subway.” 

“Well, let’s do something about that, then,” Matt says, and they do. 

.

.

.

The answer was “homeless mutant teenager having a panic attack”, it turns out, which was _super fun_ for _everyone_. Peter managed to talk her down once they actually _found_ her, which was something, but it didn’t actually fix any of her problems and neither he or Daredevil are the X-men, nor do either he or Daredevil have a helpful line _to_ the X-men. 

Peter’s not super-thrilled about the idea of the cops showing up looking for the guilty party, though. 

“Ah,” the girl says, her breathing picking up again at the sound of sirens, and Peter does the stupid thing and snatches her off her feet and up into the rooftops. She yelps, clinging onto him almost as tightly as Daredevil had and mercifully not exploding him, and he lands them in the shadows and eyes the cop cars pulling in below. 

“So what are your feelings on learning how to control those super-dangerous powers of yours?” he asks, and she sniffles wetly into his shoulder. “And X-men. Your feelings on X-men also matter.” 

“Aren’t they terrorists?” she says. 

“Oh boy, do we have a _long_ night ahead of us, kiddo,” Peter says, and Daredevil leans out of the shadows beside them, because startling the guy with super-strength and the rabbity girl with explosion powers is an _awesome_ plan, Jesus _Christ_. 

“That was a good job,” Daredevil says, tilting his head towards the cops below. Peter considers falling over in shock, even though Daredevil’s been perfectly civil this whole time. Sue him, the dark and forboding hell-creature costume gave him a certain impression. 

“Kinda only halfway through the job,” he says, tilting his own head towards the girl in his arms. Daredevil looks at him, but Peter can’t read his face with the mask in the way. The body armor’s still really tight, the stupid part of him’s definitely reading _that_. 

“Where are the X-men this week?” Daredevil asks. 

“Massachusetts,” Peter says, already kissing his extra rent money goodbye. Well, this was probably inevitable. “You want a ticket to Massachusetts, miss? I hear it’s . . . well, okay, I’ve heard basically nothing about Massachusetts except that it’s where the X-men are this week. I think people go there to watch the leaves change.” 

“They’re _terrorists_ ,” the girl says. 

“Yeah, long night,” Peter sighs. 

.

.

.

Spider-Man spends the rest of the night helping the girl explore her options, listening to her life story, and explaining how the X-men aren’t terrorists, mostly, yes the Magneto thing is complicated. Matt, meanwhile, spends the rest of the night keeping an eye out for cops and other dangerous types from the other side of the roof. They’ll be in it pretty deep if a Sentinel or something shows up, but forewarned is still forearmed. 

Are Sentinels still a thing mutants have to worry about? He should really know that. 

In the end, Spider-Man buys that bus ticket and gives the girl cab fare, and she hugs him before she leaves. Spider-Man waves goodbye from the bus stop. 

“That was nice of you,” Matt says. The sun’s practically coming up, which is _damn_ late for Daredevil to be out. He’s not getting any sleep tonight, that’s for sure. 

“Technically falls under the purview of superheroing and all,” Spider-Man says. “Also what, I was gonna let the cops take her?” 

“Some people would’ve,” Matt says. He might’ve himself, honestly, although thinking about it he _really_ knows better. 

“Well, some people are wrong,” Spider-Man says. “Thanks for sticking around. You didn’t have to.” 

“Least I could do,” Matt says, though really the least he could do would probably be confess he knows he’s Peter Parker. He resists the damning urge to ask if this is going to be a problem with making rent. 

“Still didn’t have to,” Spider-Man says, shooting a webline up towards the nearest streetlight. “I appreciate it. And now I am gonna go _die_ of exhaustion, because I have like two hours before work and I need me a catnap first.” 

“Good luck with that,” Matt says wryly, and watches him swing away with a jaunty wave and no apparent sign of exhaustion. Part of him kind of wishes he was going with him. It’s not a small part. Foggy probably wouldn’t be thrilled if he called in a sick day over staying up too late hanging out with Spider-Man, though. He needs to save those for when he’s actually _injured_ , for one thing. 

He doesn’t know what to do about Peter Parker. He’s a good guy, clearly—better than he needs to be—and it’s not like he thinks the other’d react especially badly. He doubts the guy would _like_ it, but he’s not expecting to get punched over it either. Maybe it’s the part of him that feels like the only fair thing to do would be to out himself in return, because that’s . . . a _lot_ , obviously, and dangerous as hell no matter how good a guy Peter Parker is. It’s not like they know each other all that well, either, for all the times they’ve actually met. Just because he’s attracted to him doesn’t make him trustworthy. He’s pretty sure he’s learned _that_ lesson by now. 

Pretty sure. 

Matt goes home and gets a shower and gets into a decent suit and spends the whole time idly wondering what would’ve happened if that stakeout had been a little longer than it had turned out to be, and if Peter Parker also wishes it’d turned out longer. 

.

.

.

Peter has a much too big crush on Daredevil, which has not at _all_ been helped by meeting him in costume. Like, not even a little bit. It would definitely be weird to date a superhero in his civilian identity, though. 

Of course, he already went on a date with him, so . . . 

Yeah, “weird” was definitely the word, but he’s not gonna pretend like he didn’t like it. It was cool hanging out on a rooftop stakeout with someone else, even if said someone else didn’t know he was wearing webshooters and spandex under his jacket. He’d liked working with him, too—Daredevil’d been quick and efficient and adept, and the body armor had continued to be impressive. Also, he’d done that thing where he’d hung onto him when he’d snatched him off the ground, which, uh, which had been a thing. That Peter had liked. A lot. 

He’d really like if that thing became more of a thing, actually. Handsome men wrapping their arms around him is always a good time, as long as they’re not trying to crush or suplex him, which frankly is usually the case. Can’t all be Daredevils and hot lawyers, unfortunately. 

An actually normal person would be thinking about how dating the lawyer would work, of course. Peter, obviously, is thinking about how dating _Daredevil_ would work. It’s not like he can tell him he’s Spider-Man—for one thing, that’s a _lot_ of commitment for one date—but he’d still really like to see him again. And Daredevil had been the one to ask him on the stakeout, so presumably he’s fine with that himself. 

Although, there is no normal way to bring a superhero flowers. Like, at _all_. 

There’s probably something he could figure out, though. 

“Are you brooding?” Mary Jane asks, leaning over the back of the sofa to eye him. He may be slightly upside-down on it. 

“No,” he says. 

“So, pining,” she confirms. 

“I just have no idea how to ask a superhero out on a second date,” Peter says with a sigh. “Which is entirely unfair, I _am_ a superhero, I should know this!” 

“You could just ask him,” Mary Jane says, resting her chin in her hands. Peter dismisses that idea as clearly outlandish. 

“What kind of flowers do you think they like in Hell’s Kitchen?” he says. “What kind of flowers do you think _Daredevil_ likes?” 

“Funerary arrangements,” Mary Jane says. The sad thing is, she’s probably right. 

“Ugh,” Peter says. “There’s nothing romantic about _that_.” 

“I mean, how romantic are you trying to get on the second date?” Mary Jane asks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“. . . that’s between me and the funerary arrangement,” Peter says primly, and she laughs. 

“Why don’t you get him a burner phone?” she suggests. “Then you can call him without secret identity shenanigans getting involved.” 

“ _That’s_ an interesting idea,” Peter says thoughtfully, tilting his head against the floor. “You don’t think that’s moving too fast?” 

“Peter,” she says. “You’re upside- _down_ about this guy.” 

“To be fair, I get upside-down a lot,” Peter says. 

_“Peter.”_ She gives him a pitying look. 

“. . . okay, so I’m upside-down about him.” 

“Mmm _hm_.” 

“It’s not my fault, okay, it’s _very_ flattering body armor!” 

“About which you are upside-down.” 

_“MJ . . .”_

“Alright, alright, I’ll have mercy,” she says, though she’s smirking at him. “Matching burner phones. They’re nice and low-commitment and say ‘I’d like to hang out but I’m not gonna be pushy about it’.” 

“Of course you have this all already worked out,” he says. 

“If it’d been five minutes longer before I found out your secret identity, don’t think I wouldn’t have given Spider-Man one of those,” she says with a wider smirk. 

“I don’t know if I’m flattered or offended,” Peter muses. 

“You’re upside-down,” she says. “Get off the couch and go buy some phones.” 

“I mean, if I _have_ to.” 

.

.

.

“A burner phone?” Matt asks, turning it over in his hand. Peter looks slightly embarrassed. Matt’s surprised to see him in Hell’s Kitchen at all, much less in Hell’s Kitchen with a _present_ for him. They’re down a very unsavory street, because Peter Parker has no survival instinct, or because Spider-Man is naturally drawn to dangerous situations. 

“Well, I figured asking for your usual number might be a little forward,” Peter says. “Unless you already have a burner phone, come to think of it I guess that’d be a good idea, huh.” 

“I don’t,” Matt says. He’s had them before, but more on a case-by-case basis. He definitely hasn’t kept any of them around. “Listen . . .” 

He’s about to explain why all this is a bad idea, but Peter’s already talking. 

“So I know this is kind of a bad idea, but hear me out,” he says, and Matt . . . pauses. “For starters, this is safer than me wandering around Hell’s Kitchen looking for trouble, and for finishers I would really like to see you in circumstances not necessarily directly related to crime-fighting or picture-taking. Also I have no idea how you make body armor look that flattering. That’s not actually relevant, but seriously, it’s a gift, you should bottle it.” 

“Thanks?” Matt says. 

“New York thanks _you_ ,” Peter says feelingly. “A lot. They printed some fan mail about those pictures I took of you.” 

“Did they?” Matt asks, honestly puzzled. Since when does Daredevil get _fan mail_? “Why?” 

“You really _don’t_ make a habit of looking at photos of yourself, do you,” Peter says. “Trust me, it was warranted.” 

“Hm,” Matt says. “Thanks for making me look good, then.” 

“It was not at _all_ an imposition,” Peter assures him. “Anyway, no pressure, I’d just like to hang out again sometime. And by ‘hang out’ I mean ‘go on a date’, if that was somehow unclear.” 

“We need to talk,” Matt says, turning the burner phone over in his hand again and trying to figure out if Peter’s always talked this much, or if Spider-Man talks more, or if it matters. 

“Dammit,” Peter says. 

.

.

.

Daredevil takes him up to a very high roof where he presumably isn’t going to murder him for being too pushy, although Peter is instinctively grateful he packed his webshooters anyway. Well, it’s not often he _regrets_ packing his webshooters, so really that was probably just natural. 

“This is an extremely isolated place to take someone to dump them,” he says. 

“I’m not dumping you,” Daredevil says. Which, well, they’re not _dating_ -dating, so Peter guesses that’s fair. “I know about Spider-Man.” 

“Buh?” Peter says. 

“I know about Spider-Man,” Daredevil repeats. 

“Oh my God, do you think I’m _dating Spider-Man_?” Peter demands incredulously. He refuses to believe he has cockblocked himself like that, seriously, he _refuses_. 

“What? No!” Daredevil looks baffled, which is pretty impressive to pull off with only half his face exposed and all. Peter thinks he’s relieved. 

Wait, no. He’s not relieved. 

“What do you mean you _know_ about Spider-Man, then?” he asks warily. 

“Er . . .” Daredevil’s mouth tightens. 

“Oh my _God_ , you know about Spider-Man,” Peter says in horror, covering his mouth with his hands and staring at Daredevil. “Oh my God! You know about Spider-Man! How do you know about Spider-Man?!” 

“It’s . . . complicated,” Daredevil says. “But you have identical builds, matching heartbeats, and use the same soap and shampoo.” 

“Matching _heartbeats_ ,” Peter says, voice strained. Daredevil sort of . . . winces. 

“Yes,” he says. “I can hear that kind of thing.” 

“Of course you can,” Peter says, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief. “Of course Daredevil has secret-identity-destroying superpowers and no one mentioned it to me. Why would anyone mention something like that to me?” 

“I don’t exactly advertise them,” Daredevil says. 

“Well I would really liked to have known!” Peter says. 

“It wouldn’t have done any good,” Daredevil says, shaking his head. “I figured it out in my civilian identity.” 

“Your civilian identity has met my superhero identity,” Peter says. Daredevil grimaces and doesn’t answer, which is a pretty telling answer. “Chriiiist. Before or after I started taking pictures of you? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m not even sure which one would be worse.” 

“I didn’t know when I asked you on the stakeout,” Daredevil says. “I wouldn’t have, otherwise. It wouldn’t have been right.” 

“Really? Because you know, other superheroes date _without_ immediately outing their secret identities,” Peter says. “That’s a thing other superheroes do. Avoiding, like, the Fantastic Four and the X-Men and all those types.” 

“It felt like it wouldn’t have been right,” Daredevil says. Peter just _looks_ at him. Daredevil doesn’t say anything. 

“I have no idea what to say to that,” he says finally, since apparently it’s up to him to pick up that slack. 

“I do,” Daredevil says, and then reaches up for his mask and Peter _grabs_ his wrists and stops him. Super-strength has some marked benefits in life. 

“Ohhhh no,” he says. “No, no, nope, you are _not_ outing yourself to me because your superpowers accidentally figured me out. At least, I’m assuming accidentally?” 

“Accidentally,” Daredevil confirms. 

“Yeah, you are definitely not outing yourself to me,” Peter says. 

“My name is Matt Murdock,” Daredevil says. 

“For the love of—what did I _just_ say?!” Peter demands, and then remembers—“Wait, the hot lawyer from the Tower? You’re a _lawyer_?” 

“Hot?” Daredevil repeats, tilting his head. Peter turns bright red. 

“Topic! Staying on!” he sputters. “I thought you were _blind_!” 

“I am,” Daredevil— _Matt Murdock_ —says. “I told you I don’t make a habit of looking at photos of myself.” 

“What—how—what even—” Peter sputters, and Daredevil/Matt Murdock leans in and kisses him. Peter kind of . . . melts, a little, and almost forgets to keep his grip on his wrists, although actually there’s no point in doing that anymore, really, he’s really just keeping himself grounded at this point, he thinks. What the hell. What the _hell_. 

It is a very good kiss. 

“You have trust issues!” he says accusingly, forcing himself to break it off long enough to get the words out. Daredevil is still very close, and his wrists are still held tight in Peter’s hands. 

“I just told you my _name_ ,” Daredevil says, sounding baffled. 

“Yeah, because you figured out mine and thought we had to, like, _trade_!” Peter says. “Those are trust issues!” 

“I really don’t understand what you’re saying,” Daredevil says. 

_“Trust issues,”_ Peter repeats emphatically, and then does the only reasonable thing and kisses him again. Because, like, of course he kisses him again. Who would have permission to kiss Daredevil and not do it? He cannot _imagine_. 

Daredevil kisses back, which is nice, and Peter lets go of his wrists and wraps his arms around his waist instead, because that seems like a much better place to put them. Daredevil is clearly on board, since he wraps his own around his neck in return. It’s pretty excellent. 

Well, the body armor’s not super comfortable, but they don’t all have built-in danger senses, so Peter can forgive that. At least, he doesn’t _think_ Daredevil has a built-in danger sense, he corrects himself belatedly, remembering the first time he’d had the guy in his arms and how he’d warned him about the super-villains coming up through the street at the same time his spider-sense had. Maybe that was a super-hearing thing, though, probably that would’ve been pretty noisy to someone with super-hearing—

He is maybe thinking too much right now. 

“Trust issues,” he says again, squeezing the other’s waist. Daredevil presses into him, uncomfortable body armor and all. Peter really does not care. 

“It was the right thing to do,” Daredevil says. 

“Do you always assume people want transactional relationships with you?” Peter asks. “Like, just checking, I clearly need to know for future reference.” 

“It was the right thing to do,” Daredevil repeats. Peter kisses him again, because he is _so stupid_. 

“That is the dumbest thing I have heard all week,” he says. “You’d better hope I’m trustworthy.” 

“I think you’re trustworthy,” Daredevil says, bringing one of his hands up to Peter’s face and touching it carefully. Peter snorts. 

“Yeah, but do you _know_?” he asks. “No, you do not, because we have known each other all of five minutes and you just told me your name to be _fair_ about something you couldn’t even help doing. You’re dumb. And kind of amazing. But dumb.” 

“Am I?” Daredevil says with a little smile that makes something kind of dumb itself in Peter melt. 

“Yes,” Peter says. “Next time I’m selling your pictures to the _Enquirer_ , just see if I don’t.” 

“You’re still going to take pictures of me?” Daredevil asks, gently cupping his face and stroking his thumb over his cheekbone in a way Peter can’t help leaning into. Honestly, though, he should probably bite him. The guy clearly deserves it. 

“So many,” Peter says. “And all for the Enquirer.” 

Daredevil laughs, his mouth curving in a wider smile, and Peter’s stomach does a very distracting little flippy thing and he squeezes the other’s waist again. Daredevil leans into him and tilts his head to give him another kiss, and, well . . . 

Peter could think of worse things, obviously. 

“So many,” he says again, and Daredevil laughs again. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] this photograph is proof](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20065234) by [MistbornHero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistbornHero/pseuds/MistbornHero)




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